Season of Salt and Honey Read Online Free

taking up more space than he deserves. He has always shown less confidence than Alex. I try to think of something to ask him, to talk about, but all I can think about is Alex. Alex, in his death, takes up so much space it feels like there’s no room for anything else.
    â€œI miss him,” Daniel says in a choked voice, when the silence has gone on too long.
    â€œI miss him too,” I reply softly.
    â€œI can’t think of any one thing—like, stuff we talked about or the way he did things. People ask me, what do you miss the most? I don’t know what to say. It’s just everything, you know? How he spoke, the way he was—just . . . him.”
    I nod.
    Daniel draws breath. “And the house feels different, even though he hasn’t lived there for ages.”
    â€œAs though there’s a shadow in every room.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThat’s why I can’t go home.”
    Daniel looks at me.
    â€œHe’s everywhere,” I say. “Everywhere and nowhere. In the kitchen, in the living room, in the bedroom. Sorry, but . . . all over the bedroom. There’s a stack of surfing magazines that he never threw out, they always get tipped over, make a big mess. I was always on him to tidy them up or throw them out, and now I wish the whole room was full of them.”
    Daniel is silent.
    â€œSorry,” I murmur.
    â€œNo, I get it. Sometimes I want to tell him to get out. Out of my head, I mean. And then I feel bad because I just want him back. It makes me feel . . .”
    â€œCrazy,” I say.
    â€œYeah, crazy.”
    Daniel pauses, then reaches over and pats my arm.
    I look down at his hand. The gesture is unnatural for him, but he is trying. I appreciate that he doesn’t ask me questions or tell me everything is going to be okay. He knows the world is changed and there’s no way to repair it. I take a deep breath and try not to wish that he was Alex, try to be grateful instead that he’s Daniel and the closest thing. Even silent, his presence is the most like Alex’s. It’s both comforting and torturous.
    â€œHe did love you,” Daniel says firmly.
    I look at him. He’s gone pink again.
    â€œI know you guys had been together a long time, and he wasn’t always good at saying . . . I mean, it’s a family thing. . . .”
    I shift my arm away from under his hand. “I know.”
    â€œHe may not have said it all the time. . . .”
    â€œOften enough.”
    â€œAnd he took all that time to ask you to marry him . . . but he did—”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I interrupt. Daniel looks at me, concerned. “Thank you. I mean . . . I know he loved me.”
    â€œI wasn’t suggesting—”
    â€œWe were going to be married.”
    â€œYes.”
    Now, when the silence comes, it seems to cleave a gap between us. Daniel doesn’t reach for me and I don’t reach for him. I wish I could say “wife” in the certain, always way that Daniel gets to say “brother.”
    â€œI borrowed a sweater,” I say, changing the subject, then nod towards the peaches. “And some food.”
    â€œSure. That sweater was Granddad’s. Alex loved it. He wasGranddad’s favorite—you probably know that already.” Daniel gives a small smile. “Granddad did everything in that sweater, including fishing . . . I don’t know how often he washed it.”
    I shrug. “I can’t smell anything but mothballs.”
    â€œThat’s Mom. She hates the bugs. I could bring you more clothes,” he adds. “If you’re staying?”
    Despite not being able to bear the thought of going home, I haven’t considered staying. Now I rapidly imagine my aunties back in Seattle, still wearing their dark clothes, heavy sobs shaking their shoulders. I imagine the phone ringing in our